


Forward From Darkness

by forbiddenseason



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Post-Canon, Thiefshipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-06-10 14:56:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6961705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forbiddenseason/pseuds/forbiddenseason
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With nowhere to go, and no purpose left, the spirit of the ring gravitates towards the only person he's felt anything but hate for. Post-Canon thiefshipping, rating might change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Revived

There had been nothing but darkness for years.

  
The shadows had never been particularly kind to him before. He was used to them though, and despite how they ripped him apart, he felt familiar within them. Almost like a home he had never really had. It wasn’t good, or even safe, but it was his. He had been in and out of the shadows for centuries, though previously he always had the knowledge that eventually he would be able to come back into the world. Then destroy it.

  
Then what?

  
He always told himself it didn’t matter what he did next. He would have his revenge not only on the Pharaoh, but on the whole world for allowing his village to be slaughtered- for allowing him to turn into the very monster that would destroy them. He assumed Zorc would let him go as chaos erupted on earth, and he would be able to finally rest after 3000 years of mind-numbing anger. Surely he would be punished for his crimes- but there would be no more plotting or hatred. No more tirelessly seeking for justice and revenge, no more Zorc clouding his mind. He would simply, and peacefully, cease to exist.

  
He believed that’s what was happening over this time in the shadows. It wasn’t as peaceful as he’d imagined it would be while trapped in the Ring all those years, during all that time trying to destroy the pharaoh and his pathetic friends. He didn’t have his revenge. There was no justice. Hatred remained within him, and though Zorc had let go, he couldn’t be at peace when the rest of the world was.

  
There had been nothing but darkness his whole life.

  
Except, now it wasn’t as dark anymore- and it wasn’t cold or painful all around him. He felt like he was drowning, but not in darkness as he was before. The shadows were gone and he found himself surrounded by water. He flailed his arms and brought himself up and onto sand. Lying on his back, he stared at the bright sky before it became too unbearable, then flipped over onto his stomach. Had it been a dream- that he had failed? No- he had never dreamed while he was inhabiting Ryou’s body. Nonetheless, when he looked down at himself he saw that he was in Ryou’s body, not his own.

  
He still felt different, but it wasn’t something he could understand. Face down in the hot sand, eyes now closed, he tried to remember what happened and how he ended up here, but he could not. He had no Millennium Ring, so he couldn’t be possessing Ryou. But this still wasn’t his own body. Perhaps he was just hallucinating.

  
That still didn’t make sense, but there was no use in trying to figure it out. After all this time, he’d learned that it was easier to just accept what was happening to him. It was never fair, it was never right, but considering all he’d done it’s not like he could really say he didn’t deserve it.  
Alive or not, he still needed rest. It wasn’t long until he passed out on the sand. He’d deal with it all tomorrow.  
________________________________________  
Marik threw the dishes from his cabinet and onto the floor. He hissed angrily as one star-shaped shard of glass cut his foot, but he wouldn’t stop. He should’ve put on shoes- and maybe a shirt- before running into the apartment’s kitchen to be pointlessly destructive, but it hadn’t come to mind. No dishes were safe from his outburst, and by the time he was out of plates and bowls, he still wished he had more. Now there was nothing but the mess he had made, one he’d have to clean up, as usual.  
He’d deal with it in the morning.

  
Times like this were common, especially after nightmares. Regardless of his other half being sent to the shadows, he still felt overwhelmingly angry. At the Pharaoh, at his childhood, at himself. He’d thought that once he’d surrendered, and sent the evil away, and realized he was wrong that he would feel better about everything. He didn’t. Marik felt worse than he had before sometimes, less irrational, but in more pain. He didn’t have this other personality to hold all of the trauma he experienced, all of that anger towards everyone, and many of those violent urges. They were all right in his head now. He couldn’t suppress them anymore.

  
He wandered into his apartment’s bathroom in order to care for the wound he created. He didn’t really want to leave blood splattered everywhere from the kitchen to the bedroom. He’d handle the glass later, but blood would stain. He figured he’d seen enough blood to last a lifetime.

  
After bandaging his cut and wiping up the blood, he went back to his bedroom. He didn’t have much anymore. Marik had so much power only a couple years ago. He had everything he could’ve possibly wanted. Though it hadn’t made him happy, he longed for it again. He missed the control he had over people, like somehow controlling others made him feel more controlled himself. He laid down on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Even with his soft sheets his scars still burned, and he turned to lie on his stomach. He wouldn’t be able to sleep for a while, he knew that, but what else could he do? He didn’t want to clean up all the glass, or go to some shitty 24-hour store and buy more. He didn’t want to watch TV, or shower, or do anything.

  
He didn’t want to do nothing either, but he’d have to settle for it. He stayed there for hours before he was even able to keep his eyes closed.  
________________________________________  
The next morning didn’t go well for either of them. Bakura was dehydrated, naked, and sunburnt on the sand. He didn’t know if he would be able to stand. Part of him wondered if he should just allow himself to die, out of spite to the Gods that put him back in this miserable body to live a miserable life. Did they expect him to redeem himself if given another life? That was laughable. He had nowhere to go. He’d known nothing but darkness and pain. He couldn’t even remember how things were before the genocide of his people. There were no good memories in his 3000 years of existing. He tried to think of something that would even qualify as a good memory, but only thought of moments he thought he was going to win- having his victory under his fingertips for a few deliriously exciting seconds that darted out of his grasp.

 

Then he thought of Marik.

  
He wasn’t sure exactly why the most manipulative person on the planet came into his mind when he tried to think of something good. Sure, the two understood each other silently in a way no one else had. Sure, they had a continuous sparring match with their vicious words, and soon their sharp tongues met before the Battle City tournament began. They had explored each other’s bodies fast and rough, barely even taking off their clothes in the process. Actually, it made perfect sense why he thought of Marik.  
Marik made him think and feel things he didn’t think were possible. They weren’t what he would call positive feelings, but it was definitely different than the absolute hatred he held for everyone and everything else. Marik was far from afraid of him, he was strong, and dangerous. He almost lost his chance at revenge for him.

  
He scowled at the thought. How pathetic would that have been, if he had lost not even to the hands of his enemy. He had risked everything, just so Marik could save someone else. He wasn’t even doing it for Marik himself. Was it even worth it to do all of that for the chance that Marik would have essential information? Marik definitely owed him.  
He stood, now feeling some sort of direction at the very least. He needed clothes, and he needed to find a place to stay, and for the first time in centuries he truly felt the need to eat. He was weak- but he’d manage if he put his mind to it.  
________________________________________

  
Marik, on the other hand, stayed in bed later than usual, not wanting to face the day. He needed to buy more dishes, and he would have to carefully clean up the mess he had left in the kitchen. He knew he’d have to get around to it sooner or later, but he felt exhausted from getting no rest. It took him an extra hour to work himself up to getting out of bed and dressed. He dreaded going into the kitchen and facing the shattered bits of glass covering the floor.

  
Glancing into the kitchen, he realized that he really did have quite the task ahead of himself. He had broken everything he could get his hands on that night. He’d have to be careful just to make his way to a broom. He ignored it all, opting to start with buying the new plates before even starting to clean up.


	2. Idle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bakura searches for Marik and tries to convince him that he's owed something.

Bakura was thankful for how dark it got at night in Egypt, for he was easily able to locate and steal some clothing. It was hard to keep himself covered until then, and he was thankful it didn’t take too long. Once he had found himself food and water, he was truly able to take in his surroundings. He realized he was in Egypt, and that he had regained life in the Nile. Perhaps the Gods were trying to be poetic, but he couldn’t see it like that. It seemed more like the Gods were trying to play a joke on him. He didn’t know the modern Arabic language, only a dead, ancient dialect and Japanese. He was put into a place that seemed so familiar, but at the same time he couldn’t fit in. His body stood out amongst others more than it had when he was truly alive. 

He had spent weeks trying to find out where Marik could possibly be. It’s not that he wanted to spend time with him- or even see the traitorous bastard, but he knew that Marik definitely owed him, and he’d at least be able to rest there for a couple weeks. If not, he could always scratch his ridiculous motorcycle or threaten to kill him (which never seemed to work). He needed some sort of goal anyways, no matter how hard to achieve. This should still be significantly easier than getting his revenge. Marik was a living person, which would make him easier to find. If he could speak the local language, it wouldn’t even be a challenge. 

He didn’t have anywhere but the streets, so looking him up either wasn’t going to happen, or would have to be done in someone else’s home. Asking around wasn’t an option, and though Marik stood out everywhere he went, Egypt was huge, and he wasn’t even sure where Marik would be within the country, it was unlikely that he happened to be close by in Luxor. Actually, it didn’t take someone who knew Marik very well to know that he would probably want to move around. He didn’t know much about Marik other than his revenge plans and the noises he makes while fucking, but he did know that Marik craved freedom and experience. He probably wanted to travel around the entire world. He might be impossible to find. 

There was no real reason why he should give up though. He had no other purpose at this time. There were no tyrannical kingdoms he could overthrow, and the darkness was sealed forever. He had nothing other than trying to find some bratty kid he only knew for a couple of days. It felt pathetic, and it probably was.  
________________________________________  


Marik had felt idle for so long. He lived his days hidden away in his apartment, unable and unwilling to make real connections with others. About a year ago, he had attempted to go to a nearby university. Ishizu had helped him get documents in order to apply, and she was proud of him for attempting to do something in his life besides going on murderous temper tantrums. He went on dates, and attempted to get to know his classmates. Flirting came naturally, and sex was easy, but relating to another person was not. He could never go on more than a handful of dates with one person.  


He didn’t necessarily give up on education, as much as decide he should take a break from it. The work didn’t bother him, but especially lately he hadn’t really been motivated to do much of anything. He might go back to the university to complete his classes one day- but that wouldn’t be for a while. He was left doing absolutely nothing. He had no real goals or ambition, and it was driving him crazy. He needed a purpose, something to devote his time to. However, nothing was interesting him enough for him to do so. He felt so empty and unsure about where he was supposed to go after everything that had happened.  


He couldn’t make friends, he couldn’t live a normal life and be happy. He had the money to do whatever he wanted but he knew that wouldn’t make it any better. He was still plagued with nightmares, isolation, and near uncontrollable rage. How could he be happy? How could he move on when all he could feel was pain?  
Many days, like today, he attempted to get his mind off of things with movies. He preferred to watch things that would absolutely not remind him of his own life. Media was intended to be an escape, right? That was the whole point. He sat on the couch in his pajamas, looking a mess from lack of sleep. He didn’t feel the need to keep up on his appearance if no one was going to see him. He leaned against the arm of the couch, his legs outstretched and taking up the rest of the space. The movie was a comedy, but not really that funny. It had a handful of jokes that helped Marik smile briefly, but there was no genuine laughter. Despite the quality of the film, it did its job as a distraction.  
________________________________________  


It was very hard to find Marik, but not as impossible as Bakura had thought. As it turned out, Marik was in Luxor. He lived in an apartment that somewhat shocked Bakura because as far as he was concerned- it definitely wasn’t something he thought he’d find Marik living in. It wasn’t horrible, but it was boring and simple. Judging by Marik’s soft clothes and shimmering gold jewelry, he seemed to be into things that were much more luxurious than some standard cramped apartment.  
It didn’t matter, and he didn’t care why Marik had chosen this of all places to be. He knocked on the door and waited- figuring that breaking into Marik’s place would only mean disaster, and without the Millennium Ring he was pretty vulnerable to an asskicking. Inside the apartment, Marik froze. He had no idea who would be visiting him today. Ishizu and Rishid didn’t often drop by unannounced, and he didn’t really have any friends that would want to see him. He was more worried about the fact that he looked like shit, and he was not going to let anyone see him like this. He got up quickly to run and get changed, and to brush his hair. He’d have to opt out of putting on his kohl- that would take much too much time.  


By the time he was done, Bakura was wondering if Marik was actually home, and decided to take a walk and come back later. He was only a few steps away from the door when Marik opened it.  
Marik recognized him immediately.  


“How in the shitting hell did you get here?” He asked, though it was more rhetorical than anything else.  


Bakura shrugged, “Do you mean here as in your apartment or do you mean here as in life?”  


“Apartment. You’re like a fucking cockroach, you never really die it seems.”  


“Guilty as charged.”  


“What do you want from me? It’s all over, you know that right?”  


“You owe me.” Bakura pushed past him. Marik’s apartment was as dull as the rest of the building.  


“No, I don’t. You’ve gotten everything I promised you. You didn’t do anything for me,” He knew that was a lie, “You lost at every opportunity possible. I don’t see where I could possibly owe you. “  


Despite the fact that he was lying about owing Bakura anything, to be stubborn more than anything else, there really was no desire to force Bakura to leave. He didn’t despise Bakura, but he didn’t really like him either. They’d had sex once before, mostly as an impulse decision to calm the obvious tension between the two of them so they could focus more on the task at hand.  


“I risked my future plans just so you could have enough time to save your brother.”

“You didn’t ask for anything other than to see my back. You’ve seen it.”  
Rather than ask how Marik knew that Bakura had seen it, while he was a disembodied spirit in the ring, he continued trying to prove that he was owed something.  


“You made me stab myself.”  


“I didn’t even ask for you to do that. You did that on your own.”  


“You promised I’d get the rod.”  


“You kind of did,” He managed to smile. Bakura didn’t think it was that funny.  


"Just let me sleep here.”  


“If I say no, am I going to wake up to you burning the place down?”  


“I don’t burn down buildings. But I might piss on your carpet.”  


“Charming as ever,” He wasn’t going to force Bakura out, but he wasn’t going to make it look like he wanted him over, “There’s no room here.”  


“I’ve slept in worse places than on a floor, Ishtar.”  


“So have I.”  


They were both quiet for a minute, looking at each other as if trying to figure out exactly what the other was trying to do. They both always had ulterior motives when it came to just about anything social. Even though Bakura was the one trying to get something out of this, he was still trying to sort out what Marik’s intentions were. Whether he was trying to keep him away, or trying to get him to beg to stay was a mystery. He may be desperate, but Bakura was not about to beg just to sleep on Marik’s floor.  


“You can sleep on the couch,” Marik gave in, “But only for a couple weeks. Take a shower first, and don’t get too much hair everywhere. If I find a wad of ugly old man hair in the shower, I’m shoving it in your mouth while you sleep.”


	3. Intoxication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marik brings home some alcohol

Other than an occasional argument, the two didn’t talk much. They almost felt awkward around each other, like when you ran into an ex-partner. Well, exactly like when you ran into an ex-partner. There weren’t many feelings between them to begin with, other than intrigue, but now it was just caution and confusion. Bakura knew Marik had “redeemed” himself. He didn’t think it was anything more than a show, but then again Marik was living in a small apartment on his own, and supposedly not doing any sort of crime. He didn’t feel like Marik had changed much since he first met him. Marik was well put together, confident, charismatic… manipulative and awful in every way imaginable. Bakura couldn’t see a significant change in character, other than not wanting revenge. It wasn’t possible anymore; he didn’t need it either, so that, if anything, was understandable.

        He didn’t really understand how Marik got the money he needed to pay the rent. Marik didn’t leave the apartment much other than to buy things- so there’s no way the money was being obtained legally. It didn’t make sense why Marik would even be pretending that he had changed. Marik wouldn’t have to pretend to be someone different around him, because he wasn’t any better or worse. So why bother hiding something from him? Marik would even go out of his way to make sure he was fully dressed and adorned with jewelry every day, just for being in the house.

        Marik was out at the moment, probably grocery shopping for the two of them. Bakura had asked him to buy meat, to which Marik adamantly refused. _If you’re just sleeping here, then there’s no reason for me to buy you your own food._ It was stupid, but Bakura wasn’t going to argue. He wouldn’t even say that he was living there, just using his place as shelter. He really should just go out and steal his own food, but he was tired, and Marik’s couch was really soft and warm because he’d been lying there all day, so moving was out of the question. He drifted in and out of sleep, sometimes turning on the television but nothing good was on during the day.

        When he was in Ryo’s body, he had never needed to eat or sleep. Ryo didn’t often speak with him, but when he did it was usually a reminder that he needed to eat and sleep. Completely consumed with revenge, he had ignored him. It wasn’t until now that he actually thought about him. He considered leaving Marik’s apartment to go and find Ryo; it should be easier to find him again since he wouldn’t have to break into someone else’s home to look him up, like he did while looking for Marik. That would be quite the shock for Ryo; it would be honestly hilarious to see him fall back with shock and fear again. After he had first introduced himself to Ryo, he became unfazed by almost everything he did. Ryo would only step in if he really thought that Bakura was going to win if he didn’t. The only time they really _talked_ was after he met Marik. He wasn’t going to use his body like _that_ if Ryo was unwilling.

        There was really no point in trying to go all the way to Japan just to see that though; and besides, he was comfortable where he was. A little awkwardness aside, this arrangement was working out.

        By the time Marik came back with groceries, Bakura was awake, but still on the couch watching television.

        “Don’t tell me you really laid there all day,” Marik interrupted while unpacking the food he bought.

        “Then I won’t.”

        “Did you eat?”

        “Who cares?”

        “I’m not cleaning up your corpse. If you die, do it outside.”

        “You don’t have any food I’ll eat.”

        “Help me unpack the groceries.”

        He got up and helped, but only so he could see if Marik had bought anything he would actually eat.  There were mostly vegetables, but he did see that he got some cuts of red meat.

        “I thought you said you weren’t going to get any,” He was actually somewhat surprised that Marik had gotten them for him.

        “They were on sale.”

        They cooked and ate together, barely talking to each other for hours. They didn’t even make eye contact as they sat across from each other and ate their dinner.  Both of them were almost challenging the other to speak first, to clear everything up and resolve the awkwardness they’d been feeling for the past several days. Neither wanted to break first, even though they would both feel better afterwards.

        Marik looked up at him, and for a split second they made eye contact and Bakura really thought Marik was going to start really talking to him.

        “Wash the dishes. I’m going to bed.”

        Bakura watched Marik stand up and disappear down the hall. He didn’t really intend on doing the dishes, but he felt a bit restless after sleeping all day now that he was fully awake, so he ended up doing it anyways. He didn’t do a good job, restless or not he couldn’t be bothered to do a pristine job. There weren’t many dishes, since it was only the two of them, so it didn’t take long for him to poorly rinse them off.

        He wasn’t really sure what else to do; now that he was fully awake. He just wandered around the apartment. It was dull, at least compared to who was living in it, but it was comfortable. All of the furniture was so soft and pleasant. Everything smelled nice, like expensive perfume and money, which was the one thing that was very Marik about the place. It was clean and organized. He looked through drawers and cabinets, almost like he was trying to find something incriminating, but was unable to find anything out of the ordinary. Which, ironically, seemed abnormal for either of them.

        There was no use trying to prove that Marik was still doing anything illegal, and he wasn’t really sure of why he even cared. He gave up exploring the apartment and went back to the living room and watched television again until morning.

        He had slept all day, only waking up to hearing the front door slam closed. He opened his eyes and stretched out, his arm sore from the position he was sleeping in. Marik slammed a couple bags down on the dining table. Bakura sat up and stretched his sore arm. He hadn’t seen Marik yet today, so he had no idea why Marik looked so angry. It couldn’t be his fault. He stood up and stretched a final time before speaking.

        “What’s got you in a mood?”

        Marik didn’t respond to him, he looked tired. Bakura hadn’t seen him look that exhausted or distressed since they dueled his other half.

        “I’m not going to repeat myself.”

        “Then don’t,” Marik snapped at him.

        “What did you get?”

        “Vodka.”

        “How much time has passed since I died, again? I didn’t think you were old enough.”  

        “It’s been a couple years. I’m not old enough for this kind. I have a fake ID.”

        “Aw, and here I thought you were perfect now.”

        Marik rolled his eyes, like he could call his behavior anything but perfect. He had only wanted to look good and well put together in front of his former partner. Though, now that he looked angry and tired and planned on getting drunk so he could deal with how he felt, he supposed he had ruined that.

        “You can have some too.”

        Bakura wasn’t going to refuse, they’d both been waiting for some kind of excuse to spend more time together.

        It wasn’t until they were both drunk that they started actually talking to each other.  They sat on the couch, leaning against each other and taking turns with shots. Bakura, his body new, was much more intoxicated than Marik was.

        “What do you even do?” Bakura asked Marik, wondering how he paid for the apartment without working, but unable to word it properly.

        “What?”

        “You don’t work.”

        “I don’t need to.”

        “How?”

        “I’ve still got money,” Marik explained, he was more tipsy than flat-out drunk, “I used to have so much money. I put it away, in an offshore bank. I still have it.”

        “Then why live here? It looks like shit.”

        “You look like shit.”

        Bakura tried to push him off of the couch, but ended up falling himself. Marik shook his head, “I think you’ve had enough.”

        “Why do you live here?” He repeated.

        “Ishizu doesn’t know I have that money.”

        “Oh?”

        “Yeah. She’d flip the fuck out. I just told her I work online. I don’t, but it’s easy to fake.”

        “I thought you were trying to be good.”

        “There’s only so much I can do and still be myself.”

        They were quiet for a couple seconds.

        “You really do look like shit. Have you even brushed your hair since you revived?”

        “No. I don’t have a brush. I don’t have anything.”

        “Let me brush your hair.”

        Bakura sat up, and gave Marik a confused look, “What the hell? Are you serious?”

        “Yeah. It pisses me off. So I’ll fix it.”

        He looked around, searching his clouded mind for some logical protest, “It’s weird.”

        “You’ve had my dick inside you but you won’t let me brush your hair.”

        “That was years ago.”

        “But have you even fucked since then? Probably not.”

        “No? So what? It was a one-time thing. I don’t fuck every guy I see.”

        “Then I must be special,” Marik smiled, “I’ll go get the hair brush.”

        Bakura opened his mouth to protest, but decided that there was no real point in arguing anymore. Too drunk and too tired to really fight about it, so he just let Marik go. He climbed back up onto the couch to make it easier for the both of them. It didn’t take long for Marik to return, brush in hand, and sit back beside him.

        Marik started the difficult task of taming Bakura’s wild hair. Considering that it hadn’t been brushed in weeks, it really did make Marik cringe. He pulled the brush through his hair, being careful not to break it. He was pretty confident Bakura could handle his head being yanked back while Marik wrestled with his wild hair. Bakura winced, but didn’t really complain too much more about it. Once Marik had managed to get most of the bigger knots out of his hair, they could continue to talk.

        “You could’ve just asked for a brush, or stole one,” Marik began, “There really is no excuse for you to look this bad.”

        “I’ve been to hell an’ back, gimme a break,” Bakura, drunk and exhausted, had stopped putting in any effort to hide the slurring in his words. “We can’t all be Mr. Perfectly Functional.”

        “I’m not.”

        “You’re not what?”

        “Perfectly functional.”

        “Bullshit, Ishtar, you get out of bed and dressed every day and leave the place and still look just as hot as you did when we first met. Maybe hotter.”

        “You don’t need to flatter me, I know I look good. I’m only doing it because you’re here. Hadn’t dressed up in a couple weeks before you came here.”

        Bakura squinted, like he was trying to read small print on Marik’s face, “Why bother while I’m here? I don’t care.”

        Marik dismissed the confusion, “I don’t want people seeing me as a fucking mess. You shouldn’t want it either.”

He had long since finished actually getting any knots out of Bakura’s hair, but now that it was tamed it felt super soft and Marik didn’t want to stop running his fingers through it, so he continued brushing.

“That’s stupid. You’re so fake. You’re always fake. As fake as those stupid cards your stupid gang used to make.”

Marik hit him over the head with the brush.

“Ow!”

“Watch your tongue or I’ll cut it off.”

“There’s the guy I know!”

        “Stop talking or I’ll cut all your hair off.”

        “I was thinking about getting it cut actually, I look too much like Ryo. I don’t like it.”

        Marik didn’t really want Bakura to cut off all of this beautiful white hair. He began braiding it. When he was in the tomb he had learned a couple of braiding techniques, though he usually applied them to flower necklaces, not really anyone’s hair. Since he hadn’t really practiced on actual hair, and he was drunk, it wasn’t going to look very good. Bakura didn’t really care if it did or not, but he thought it was weird.

        “What are you doing?”

“Braiding your hair so it doesn’t knot back up right away.”

        “Oh,” Bakura’s voice was barely above a whisper. He closed his eyes, they felt all too heavy.

        Once Marik had finished braiding his hair, he leaned back against the couch. He was getting tired, and had missed a lot of sleep the night before so he really did need his rest. He thought about inviting Bakura to share his bed, but by the time he got up, Bakura had passed out


	4. Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically, Bakura fucks up.

 Bakura had remembered everything when he woke up, despite having been completely plastered. His hair was still braided and he sat up to undo it- but his head pounded and he quickly laid back down. He knew he should get some water, but moving was not something he wanted to do when he was this disoriented. He could hear footsteps around the apartment, and figured Marik was up. He had probably slept in late, but it didn’t feel like it since he’d been sleeping all day. Marik saw that Bakura had woken up, and decided to get him some water.

“I don’t want you throwing up on my carpet,” he set a glass on the ground beside him.

Even though he really wanted it, he still rejected the glass of water, “I’ll get it myself later.”

“You couldn’t even sit up. You need to drink it if you even want to get up.”

“What, do you care?”

“No,” Marik scowled at him, “You’re the one who thinks I owe you, but you won’t let me help you.”

“I got stabbed last time you tried to help me.”

“You stabbed yourself, and you were helping me. I didn’t poison the water, drink it.”

“Why is my hair braided?”

“Bakura drink the goddamn water or I’m kicking you out.”

If only to stop Marik from talking, Bakura slowly sat up and took the water. Once he had finished the glass, and Marik looked like he would have left him alone, Bakura repeated his question.

“Why is my hair braided?”

He knew perfectly well why it was braided, but it wasn’t something he really wanted Marik to know he remembered. Even if Marik remembered too, which he probably did, Bakura was unwilling to let Marik know that he wasn’t past blackout point. He didn’t want Marik to know that he remembered how it felt to have his fingers running through his hair, especially once it was all brushed and soft and soothing the sting of having his hair yanked back. It was so nice and intimate and entirely nonsexual but still made his eyes close and his face redden, alcohol aside.

“You really don’t remember?” Marik looked at him incredulously. He really didn’t think Bakura had been _that_ drunk.

“No, I don’t fucking remember.”

“Your hair was a fucking mess because you’re too incompetent to take care of it, so I brushed it. It was a fucking chore. If I didn’t braid it, you’d have to brush more knots out right in the morning. So I braided it for you.”

“Oh will you shut the fuck up! I don’t have a fucking thing to my name! I fucking respawned or some shit in the fucking Nile. I didn’t even have _clothes_ to start off with. I’m tired. I’m just trying to rest while I’m here, not have you bitching in my damn ear about how often to take care of this hair that doesn’t even feel like mine.”

“You barely fucking eat. You aren’t going to survive living like this!” Marik was making dramatic, frustrating hand gestures that would’ve made his anger comical if it were any normal person.

“I don’t _want_ to survive like this! I don’t have any fucking will to live. _I don’t want to be here,_ ” He tried looking at anything but Marik.

“Bakura, I-“ Marik began, perhaps trying to calm himself down, maybe even apologize for taking his frustrations out on him but he was cut off.

“But it’s not like _you’d_ understand that. No one fucking does.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“You don’t know what this is like!”

“I don’t know what _what_ is like?

“What it’s like to suffer the way I have!” Bakura spat out, not really thinking the words though. When he looked up at Marik’s face, he immediately realized just how wrong of a statement that was.

“Do you fucking want to look at my back and say that again?”

He stared at him, eyes wide, and unable to say anything. What could he say? Sorry? Not happening. Even though he’d refuse to apologize he didn’t want to make the situation worse. He thought about running, but still felt too sick and hungover to leave.

“You know what? Maybe you didn’t get as good of a look as I thought you did in the ring. How about I do show it to you?” Marik took off his shirt.

“You don’t have to…”

“No, _clearly_ you didn’t see it well enough.” He spun around so Bakura could see his scars.

“Those aren’t fucking tattoos. Do you know how long that took? _Hours._ With a knife. A hot fucking knife. I was ten years old,” Marik laughed, but there was no joy in it, only a bitter reaction to a memory, “And this wasn’t even the worst of it.”

Bakura didn’t really know how he felt. He didn’t really feel bad about lashing out, but he didn’t really like the way Marik was reacting. He found himself face to face with him again.

“So maybe I don’t know anything about _you_ or what _you_ went through in your tragic fucking past or whatever but don’t you fucking _dare_ say that I don’t know what suffering is like. Or you will know suffering in this life unlike any other. I might not be as bad as I was but you still do not want me as your enemy.”

If Bakura knew anything for certain about the situation, it would be that that was the truth. Not only was Marik ruthless when he wanted to be, and apparently still full with rage, but he was the only person that was helping him. That would ever be willing to help him. Even still, he didn’t really know what he should do about it. He wasn’t going to apologize to him, he didn’t feel the need to, but he still felt something.

Marik stared at him, as if expecting Bakura to say something. When there was nothing but silence, he put his shirt back on.

“Fine.” He sighed, and walked back to his room without another word.


	5. Remission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bakura attempts to make the situation at home better

A week went by and they were back to not speaking, barely even looking at each other. Only now, the tension around them wasn’t only awkward, it was hostile. Marik refused to cook anything for Bakura at all, and wouldn’t buy anything that wasn’t vegetarian. So, in his dirty, still unwashed clothes he had to go out to steal some food.

Bakura would never say that he felt guilty about what he said, but he absolutely knew that he was in the wrong for once in his life. There was no real way for him to justify his irrational anger towards Marik for actually being nice to him, or for implying that Marik hadn’t known suffering in his life. That was absolutely ridiculous, and probably especially from Marik’s perspective, who didn’t know what he had gone through back in ancient Egypt. Hell, he barely remembered what happened himself. He had been so corrupted by darkness that he had lost almost everything to it. He was so enraged that he had willingly given up the memories of those he'd lost in order to avenge them.

He wanted things to be better, but didn’t know how to fix them. He couldn’t say he was sorry, he didn’t even think he felt sorry. Even if he swallowed his pride and lied, he didn’t think Marik would appreciate it. 

The thrill of thievery usually could take his mind off of anything when he was alive, but now he was nervous. He didn’t have the power he’d once had, and by suddenly being rejected from the darkness, he’d lost his ability to not care about anything. He still cared about very little, but being caught and sent to jail was definitely not something he wanted to happen. Stealing anything was also both more difficult and easier at the same time. People were more likely to let it go if they saw it, but there were also cameras to prove who the culprit was. It was also more difficult to steal food, especially meat, because he couldn’t hide it on his body, which was essential for stealing anything today.

He ended up stealing a backpack first, in order to address that first situation. Stealing it was not easy either. He decided that it was too big to steal easily from a store or vendor, so he took the opportunity when someone set their backpack down, maybe to take off their jacket. He quickly snatched it up and hurried away before anyone could notice. After going through it, he noticed that they had their wallet in there. He could buy the food himself. He’d rather steal it, but this made things a lot easier.

Whoever he stole the backpack from didn’t really have a lot of money. He saw that he had enough for a couple of days. That should help him buy some time at least to figure out the best way to steal food later. They didn’t have much else in there but a packed lunch, a couple of books, and some dirty clothes. He threw away the rest of the contents, and after purchasing some food, decided to head back to Marik’s apartment.

Marik was there when he walked in, watching TV. He didn’t even look over towards Bakura.

“Hey.”

There was no response.

Bakura couldn’t stand this awful tension between the two of them. He knew he was wrong. He was absolutely in the wrong. He regretted not just accepting Marik’s help and then going back to sleep. He regretted making a show of how much he absolutely didn’t remember the night before. If he had just kept his mouth shut the two would likely be talking by now, frequently. Sure, they were bound to have arguments, but that was different than Marik ignoring his entire existence. If he wanted to continue living there, which for some reason he did, he would have to fix things. 

He went out again, not wanting to sit there in awkward silence. He wasn’t sure what he should do. He walked around shops looking around for something that could help him out, but it was starting to get dark and a lot of places were closing. That wouldn’t be a problem for theft, but he wanted to look first before breaking in somewhere.

Eventually he stumbled upon a closed jewelry store. That was Marik’s thing right? He figured he’d be able to find something in there for him even without looking ahead of time. He didn’t really have anything to cover his face with, so he tucked the back of his hair into a shirt and tried his best to not face a camera. He quickly grabbed a handful of the first bunch of bracelets he saw and hurried out. 

Going through what he got, most of it didn’t look like anything Marik would wear. He settled on a small gold bracelet that he hoped would fit, and left the rest in front of the building. He really didn’t have a use for jewelry and stealing a lot of it would put him at risk of too much attention. He didn’t need that.

He didn’t know how he was going to present the bracelet to Marik. If he gave it to him, he felt like Marik would expect some sort of apology along with it. He had the item but not the words to go along with it. So he just placed it on the table in plain view before going to sleep on the couch. 

It only felt like an hour had passed before Marik was waking him up by shaking his arm. 

“What? What is it?”

“What is this?” Marik asked, holding out the bracelet, “It’s not mine.”

“Oh. That’s for you.”

Marik wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t going to ask about how he had gotten it- he already knew the answer. What he really wanted to know was why Bakura had gotten this for him. He didn’t think someone like Bakura would actually apologize- then again this wasn’t even a real apology. Was he  _ trying  _ to apologize? He put the bracelet in his room without another word. He was going to make sure this was some sort of an attempt to make up for what Bakura had done. 

Bakura was frustrated with the lack of a reaction. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he felt like nothing had changed. 

This continued for days:  Bakura would steal something and present it to Marik by leaving it somewhere, and Marik would accept, but not say anything about it. Bakura didn’t know what he could even do to make a better apology. 

He tried to think back to things Marik had said, to try to get some sort of clue, but with Marik ignoring him for the majority of time they’d known each other he was unable to come up with anything substantial. So, he decided to try at least one more time. While “shopping” during the day, he found a black silk top that he felt would be something Marik would wear. He quickly stuffed it into his backpack and hurried away.

When he got back to the apartment, he wasn’t sure if Marik was home or not. He tried to be quiet, so he could put the top somewhere Marik would find it without being noticed. He didn’t want to just leave it on the table, where he put jewelry, because it might fall off and get stepped on and ruined immediately. So Bakura opted for putting it away in Marik’s drawers.

He hadn’t been in Marik’s room before. It was pretty surprisingly simple given his usual flashy look. However, he could tell that a lot of things in his room (the bed, the clothes, and the dresser) were expensive. His bed looked really soft, which didn’t surprise him. Most of Marik’s clothes and furniture was also very soft. He looked through the drawers to try and find one where Marik kept his shirts, which was very easy as they were organized very well. Just as he was about to place the shirt and leave, he heard Marik speak from the doorway.

“What are you doing?”

Bakura, caught with the gift still in hand, hid it behind his back, “Nothing.”

Marik looked at him, with an expression that was difficult to read. Bakura didn’t want to make things worse. He didn’t want it to look like he was going through his things, or maybe even stealing from him.  Bakura knew that was what it looked like, and knew he shouldn’t say anything to make it worse, but opened his mouth anyways.

“I’m not stealing from you.”

Marik bit his lip and looked away from Bakura and then back at him. He started laughing, laughing so hard his face began to turn red. He covered his mouth and tried to bite his hand in an attempt to stop, but he couldn’t. This wasn’t like how Bakura had seen Marik laugh before. It wasn’t sadistic or taunting. It was genuine and, as much as Bakura didn’t want to admit it to himself, adorable. Until he stopped of course, and gathered himself enough to speak.

“I know. I know. You’re stealing _for_ me. I know. I forgive you.”

“I wasn’t asking for forgiveness.” He absolutely was.

“Sure. I get it,” Marik tried his best not to start laughing again. He knew, for the entire time, that Bakura was trying to say he was sorry. He couldn’t believe it at all when it started, and wanted to be sure, but by the time the second gift was stolen he knew.  Though he had already forgiven him by then, it was absolutely hysterical to watch a 3000-year-old evil spirit present him with gifts the same way a cat dropped a dead bird on the doorstep, just for his forgiveness. Watching Bakura get so frustrated in his attempt to apologize without actually apologizing not only meant a lot, but was very entertaining. As an added bonus, he got a lot of jewelry and clothes out of it.

“Come on, help me with dinner,” Marik left the room and headed towards the kitchen while Bakura followed just a few steps behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to vauglygenius and my friend jackthevulture for helping me get through this, and for helping me edit the story. I've been meaning to thank both of them since the beginning.


	6. Soft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marik realizes Bakura's clothes haven't been washed in weeks. Kind of a filler.

Now that Marik felt like Bakura had tried to apologize, he moved on. The tension between them was temporarily lifted. They still weren’t close, and when Bakura thought about it, he really didn’t know Marik that well. They talked, but they never got beyond small talk. Bakura almost wished they’d get drunk again, so he could really get to know more about Marik as a person. Though, he knew there was no point. He’d say something about himself, or let Marik braid his hair again, and he’d absolutely have to deny that he remembered it the next day. It would be completely counterproductive.

Since Marik had forgiven him, he brought Bakura food. He didn’t always cook for him, but the option to cook for himself was always there. Ryo was an amazing cook, and if he could remember enough about watching him, he would do fine on his own. He preferred not to though, not really sure if he would be able to, and not wanting to burn anything.

Most of the time, like they were now, the two just sat in the same room. They didn’t really talk. Marik would watch TV or read a book, and he always read out loud which was ridiculously annoying, but Bakura never said much about it. He assumed Marik just liked the sound of his own voice.  

“You’ve never washed those, have you?” Marik had suddenly broke his gaze at the television. He was referring to Bakura’s clothes. Bakura had stolen those weeks ago, the day he was revived.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Give them to me, I’m washing them. You smell horrible.”

“I don’t have anything to change into while I wash them.”

“Who cares? I’ve seen you naked before.”

“This is different.”

Marik gave him a look, not really understanding but not about to question him either. Bakura’s clothes were disgusting.

“Then borrow some of mine.”

“I’m not wearing one of _your_ shirts.”

“Why not?”

“They’re just not something I’d wear.”

“How about some pajamas? I haven’t worn them yet. Ishizu gave them to me.”

“I don’t-”

“If the only reason you won’t wear my clothes while I wash yours is because you don’t like the style, then you shouldn’t have a problem with the pajamas. They’re no worse than the sailor aesthetic you had going for you when I met you.”

“Those were Ryo’s!”

“You were still wearing them.”

“Fine!” Bakura gave in, realizing how much his clothes really _did_ need to be washed. He should steal some more next time he had a chance.

Marik went into his room and dug around for those pajamas he never wore. Since he hadn’t seen them in a while, it took longer than he expected. They were a blue long-sleeved button-up top and a matching pair of pants to go with it. They weren’t ugly, and he wondered why he never actually wore them. Eventually he found them, somewhere on his closet floor, with the tag still on them. He shook off the dust and removed the tag.

“Here,” Marik said once he got to Bakura again, and he threw the pajamas at him. “Change into these and let me wash your damn clothes.”

Bakura changed in the bathroom. The pajamas were much too big on him. The sleeves went past his wrists and he had to hold the pants up. He knew wearing Marik’s clothes was a stupid idea. When he was done and left the bathroom, he handed Marik his clothes.

“Don’t say a fucking word,” Bakura said when he saw the look on Marik’s face.

“You’re small.”

“No, I’m not. Ryo is.”

“Yeah but that’s your body now. Your small body.”

“Shut your fucking mouth.”

Marik raised his hands in mock surrender, “Alright, alright. Come with me.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to show you how to wash your clothes. I am not going to do it myself all the time.”

“I know how to run a washing machine, I have Ryo’s memories.”

“Well I’m going to make sure you do it right.”

Marik showed him where everything was- whether or not Bakura knew how to run a washing machine, he still wouldn’t know exactly where Marik’s was, what to set it to, and where all of the soaps were. Marik had a small washing machine and drier, so it could fit in the apartment. Only a small basket of clothes could fit in at a time. He threw some of his less fancy clothes in with Bakura’s. Bakura just watched, and neither of them said much until the clothes were being washed.

“You can keep the pajamas.”

“They’re too fucking big. Why would I keep them?”

“Because you don’t have any pajamas, and I’m sure you’d rather sleep in them than jeans.”

“I don’t care.”

“Sure you don’t.”

They fell back into silence, neither of them knowing what to say to the other, but desperate to keep a conversation, if only to pass time.  

“Your sister got these for you?”

“Yeah, they aren’t bad but I never wore them.”

“Why not?”

Marik shrugged, “I just didn’t.”

“I thought you and your siblings were close. You haven’t seen them the whole time I’ve been here.”

“That’s because you're here. I keep putting off their visits. I’m not going to have them over here while you’re living here.”

“I could just leave the apartment.”

“Maybe. The place is still a fucking mess because you live here, and honestly I don’t feel like cleaning it up right now. You don’t even own anything so I don’t know how you do it.”

“You’re not being neat either.”

“I usually am.”

“So? Now you aren’t.”

“Whatever.”

“Wouldn’t they be suspicious that you suddenly stopped letting them over?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Then just clean up a little and let them come over.”

“I don’t want to clean.”

“Then go visit them.”

“Why do you even care?”

“Because I can’t think of anything else to talk about.”

Marik tried to bite back laughter, but it escaped in his words, “Fine, fine. But I’m not cleaning up if you don’t do your share of the work. You don’t pay rent, so you could at least clean.”

He rolled his eyes, “I’m not going to be your maid.”

“Then help pay rent.”

“You can’t be serious. I don’t have a job.”

“You can be creative.”

“You can afford it.”

“I can.”

“Then why?”

“Honestly, to make you clean up,” Now that the idea was in his head, Marik became pretty adamant on the idea.

“Well I’m not going to,” Bakura was also very stubborn, he wasn’t going to be caught with a broom.

“What are you going to do all day then? Sit around and wait for me to come home?”

“You don’t leave that much, and I don’t wait for you.”

“I’m going to go back to school eventually.”

“You were in school?”

“Yeah, I finished a year, started another, and took a break.”

“Oh,” Bakura kept himself from asking why. Though he was curious, he did know that asking Marik too many questions would not only put him in a bad mood, but invite him to question him all he wanted.

The timer went off, signaling it was time to move the clothes into a drier. With the break in their conversation, they decided to go their separate ways again. Marik went into his own room, and Bakura went to the couch. He sat there quietly, toying with the sleeves of his soft pajamas that went way past his wrist. They were very comfortable. Maybe he’d keep them after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for lack of indentations, this website is very fickle about letting me put them in.


	7. Visit

Bakura was napping on the couch when Marik came back home, though he was woken up when Marik slammed shopping bags down on the floor beside him. He rolled over on the couch, and tried to go back to sleep. 

“Get up,” Marik was by the couch now.

“No.” Bakura covered his head with his pillow, but Marik took it from him. 

“You can’t sleep all day,” Marik insisted. 

“I didn’t sleep all day.”

“I’ve got something for you, come on. Get up.”

Bakura, as always, decided it was easier to just give in. He was fully awake now anyway and it would take him a long time to get back to sleep. 

“What is it?” 

“Since for some reason you’re too incompetent to do anything other than sleep, I bought you some more clothes so you wouldn’t have to steal them. I also got you your own hairbrush and a couple of other things.”

“Okay.”

Marik looked around, taking in his surroundings.

“Did you clean up?” Marik asked, genuinely surprised. 

“I got bored.”

“I guess you’ll still do whatever I say.”

“No, I won’t. I don’t do whatever you say. I just got bored and I’m tired of living in this mess.”

“You believe what you want to believe.”

Bakura wished he could punch the smug look off Marik’s face.

Marik continued, “Thank you though, Ishizu’s been bothering me about a visit. She hasn’t seen me in over a month now.”

“Oh great, I can’t wait until she comes over so I can walk around town aimlessly for a couple hours while you pretend to be whatever you pretend to be in front of your sister.”

“Oh shut the fuck up, you’re pretending to be dead.”

“So? I don’t have any obligation to be honest to anyone. No family, no friends, only whatever you are. It’s not the same thing.”

“What do you care?”

“I don’t, I just don’t get what you’re doing.” 

“You don’t have to; you can just mind your own fucking business.”

“You’re so defensive.”

Marik paused and took a deep breath. He didn’t want to get worked up over something this stupid. It was way too easy to make him angry, and he knew that.

“I’m sure you can find something to do for a couple hours. Steal something, whatever. I don’t care. Just stay out of the fucking apartment.”

Bakura backed down. As much as he did like making Marik angry, this wasn’t something easy enough to work with. He didn’t understand why Marik lied so much to his siblings if he was trying to be a better person. He didn’t care what Marik did or what he was trying to be, but he did want to understand him. 

“How do I know when to come back?” Bakura didn’t want to return while Ishizu was still there. 

“I don’t know, we’ll get you a phone and I’ll call you when it’s okay,” Marik hadn’t really thought about that.

He didn’t think through a lot actually. By now, the place was very clearly lived in by two people, and Bakura kept everything of his next to the couch in the shopping bags Marik had brought his clothes in. On Saturday, he almost forgot about them and had to hurry to move them into his own room. He checked around the apartment to make sure that there were no more signs of another person. Ishizu hadn’t been over in so long, he figured she wouldn’t question it if she did notice anything. 

He was happy that he was going to be seeing her again. Even after he moved away from them, his family remained a priority. Living with Rishid and Ishizu, however, did get emotionally draining. He didn’t blame them for being worried. He was worried about himself. Despite this, he did not want to be constantly checked on. He couldn’t live with people always asking where he was and who he was with. 

Around them, he had to keep all of his anger entirely bottled up, wanting them to think he was okay now. Marik needed freedom to make his own choices, even if those choices were breaking all of his dishes in the middle of the night, or letting someone like Bakura into his life. 

Ishizu never wanted Marik to move away, even if it was fairly close by. They had all become very close, and she thought they were all happy. When Marik told her that he was leaving she was surprised, but in retrospect there was nothing surprising about Marik wanting more freedom. She still wanted to see him often, not only because she was worried but because she loved him, and missed him.

 For a while now, Ishizu had wanted to visit. She knew that something must have been wrong, because it couldn’t be that Marik didn’t want to see her. She knew he didn’t have friends, she knew he stopped dating; she knew he was alone in that apartment all the time. More than anything, she knew he lied to her all the time. She was far from stupid, but she didn’t feel like there was a need to point it out, when usually he lied to try and make her feel better. She didn’t want him to worry about  _ her  _ and whether or not he was worrying her, but she knew nothing would stop that. She tried to keep faith that Marik would tell her that he wasn’t working, and how he got the money he used to pay for everything. 

Both Rishid and Ishizu greeted Marik when they got to his apartment. Marik seemed normal, so she wasn’t sure what had happened those past few weeks. They all sat in the living area to talk. Rishid didn’t usually say much unless directly addressed. Despite not seeing each other for a while, they ran out of things to talk about very quickly.

“How’s work?” Ishizu asked him, still hoping that he’d admit to lying about it. 

“It’s going alright, it’s work, not much happens,” Marik was a good liar, but Ishizu knew him too well.

“Well that’s good then. Are you going to go back to school anytime soon?”

“I don’t know, I’d like to but I have a lot going on right now.”

“You know you can tell us about it.”

“I’d rather not.” 

She wasn’t going to push him into saying anything. 

“What have you been doing lately? I don’t like you being here alone all the time.”

“I go out sometimes, I’m not always here.” Marik did go out, but he didn’t really socialize.He sighed, he really wanted to bring the subject off of himself. Ishizu realized this, and backed down again. She tried to help by changing the conversation herself. 

“Maybe we could all make lunch together?” She felt that it would keep them fairly busy and get them talking about something else. 

They all agreed, they always cooked together on their visits. They decided on making koshari, but it did not end up changing the subject. Since she was moving around the kitchen, and saw more of the apartment, she noticed that a lot of things had changed. Two seats weren’t pushed in under the table, even though Marik was the only one living there. That on its own wouldn’t have warranted any suspicion if it weren’t for the fact that Marik had red meat in his fridge. Rishid and Ishizu exchanged knowing glances. 

Ishizu spoke up first, “Marik, who’s living here with you?”

Marik froze, knowing he couldn’t tell them the truth, “No one, I told you I live alone.”

“Marik, there are steaks in the fridge. You don’t eat meat.”

“They are for… when my friends come over,” As much as Marik knew this wasn’t going to be a convincing excuse, he did know that Ishizu wouldn’t respond by telling him that he had no friends. He would feel bad about putting her in a box like that if he hadn’t insisted over and over that they not talk about him. He knew they were worried, but he wasn’t ready to tell Ishizu something like this. He would tell Rishid if they were alone, but he would still rather keep it secret.

Of course, doing so only made him look even more suspicious. Rishid automatically assumed that Marik had a boyfriend, and Ishizu wasn’t far behind in that train of thought. They both knew it was better to not try to force Marik to give them any answers. They would keep trying to push him into telling them himself, but not now. They wouldn’t want to ruin the visit after so long. 

They all ate together; the environment was still tense and quiet. They each tried to find things to talk about but failed. Most of their conversation was very small and meaningless, but they were eventually able to lighten the mood so the rest of the visit could be somewhat pleasant. 

By the time they had to leave, they were all on good terms again, and they almost wanted to stay together longer. However, they were all tired, and knew that they wouldn’t be able to be around each other today without more questions and an uncomfortable atmosphere. Ishizu had realized that Marik wasn’t going to tell her anything today, and probably never. Since she had given the Pharaoh the Necklace, she had accepted that she couldn’t know everything about everyone, though there were still times she wished she could just  _ know  _ what he was thinking. She never longed for that power more than when she was with her brother. 


	8. Slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bakura's a dumb piece of shit

Sometimes everything would go so fast. Their arguments, which were fierce and full of burning fire, would then flicker out in an instant. Their stares and small touches were much too quick, before they instantly turned away and then pretended like it never happened. The good times, the way they laughed genuinely in what felt like the first time in forever; the times they spent cooking together, complaining about each other’s diets with no malice; the way Bakura felt when Marik said his stolen name, or when he smiled at him, or gave him more gifts; it was all very fast.

Other times, like right now, everything would slow down to the point where Bakura could hear nothing else but his own heartbeat, one he used to wish would’ve died out. They had both downed a couple of drinks, barely enough to qualify as being drunk, but Marik leaned on Bakura and mumbled incoherently as he started falling asleep. After some adjustments to make themselves more comfortable, Bakura found that he was laying on his back with Marik on top of him, head resting on Bakura’s chest. Bakura wasn’t sure why he wrapped his arms around him instead of pushing him off, but it was a moment he wanted to last forever so badly that he fought sleep weighing down his eyelids.

He tried to convince himself that he couldn’t sleep because Marik had insisted they leave the lights on, but he was exhausted. He closed his eyes and tried his best to remain awake, to stroke Marik’s hair and memorize everything, the way he felt against him, the way he smelled, the soft breaths being the only sounds he made despite usually being such a loud person. Bakura didn’t think even snoring could ruin the moment though.

If Bakura knew one thing for certain, it was that good things don’t last forever. Though he fell asleep after Marik, he woke up before him. He wanted to push him off, and make the whole thing look like an accident, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He closed his eyes and tried to rest until Marik woke up and got off him himself.

Marik woke up slowly, not really wanting to move immediately either, even when noticing that he was lying on top of Bakura. He was so comfortable. He shifted so he could look up at Bakura to see if he was awake. Thinking he was still asleep, he stayed where he was for a few more minutes. Bakura didn’t move or give away that he was awake.

They did have to move eventually, so Marik started to move off of him carefully. Bakura “happened” to wake up just as Marik had gotten off of him, and they resituated themselves to sit next to each other. Having just woken up, they both still smelled like alcohol and looked like they could fall back asleep at any second, but neither wanted to go anywhere.

Marik rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a bit sore from sleeping on the couch with Bakura all night. Now that he was up, he wasn’t sure how he had been so comfortable like that. Bakura was used to sleeping on the couch every night, and that hadn’t been much different, though much better.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep there,” Marik decided to speak first, and somewhat apologized. The words weren’t there, but Bakura could tell what he meant.

“No, it’s fine. I didn’t…” He dismissed it, he was comfortable and warm and he enjoyed every second of it.

Now it was over, and he couldn’t act like that anymore. He couldn’t act like he was so easily swept up into everything, but they were so close, facing each other. He felt unable to breathe with the way Marik was looking at him. Marik opened his mouth to say something but no words came out, and Bakura couldn’t stop himself from kissing him.

The kiss wasn’t as slow as everything had been leading up to it. Only a couple seconds after their lips connected, Bakura pulled away. Marik tried to kiss him again, but Bakura stopped him.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” He said it quickly, and stood up. Marik stood up with him and grabbed his arm to stop him.

“No, it’s okay, you don’t-“

Bakura yanked his arm out of Marik’s grasp, “No- I didn’t mean to do that. Don’t touch me.”

“Are you serious?”

“I didn’t want to do that,” He sounded adamant, but like he was forcing himself to say it.

“Bakura, what’s the point in pretending you don’t want to kiss me?”

“I’m not pretending! Why would I want to kiss you?”

“I don’t know, but you _did_ , so clearly you wanted to,” Marik couldn’t believe he was even having this conversation.

It was so obvious, even to him, that Bakura _liked_ him. He knew what it was like when people were attracted to him. This wasn’t it. They lived out their day-to-day lives together and became so comfortable with each other that Marik was surprised they had avoided the topic for so long. It was frustrating, waiting for Bakura to say something so he didn’t have to. As much fun as it was to see Bakura’s reactions to everything, to catch him staring, to see his face when they accidentally brushed against each other- it was getting rather boring.

“I didn’t want to! I don’t want to kiss you, or touch you, or spend time with you- I don’t _like_ you.”

Marik knew the words were meant to be hurtful in the moment, but at this point he knew they were meaningless. It was always like this, every time he thought they might be leading up to something Bakura had to throw some kind of fit. He didn’t care why. They both had reasons not to get close. They were both beyond fucked up. He knew Bakura had suffered like he had. He knew Bakura had trouble accepting that there was nothing left to fight. He was broken, confused, and above all, he was lost. There was nothing left to Bakura but empty threats and misleading words, saying one thing but meaning another, and he was sick of it.

Marik didn’t have the patience to walk Bakura through his feelings. He had his own problems, his own erratic emotions and mood swings that would cause him to buy gifts or break everything in the house. Marik didn’t need someone making it worse every day. He didn’t want Bakura constantly messing with his mind or making him second-guess himself and what he knew.

“Listen, I could stand here all day and give you all the fucking evidence to show you that you’re lying, but I’m just not. I don’t know what you want me to say or if you’re looking for me to convince you that it’s worth it or if you want me to beg or be the one to make the first move- I don’t know. I don’t know what you want and I’m not guessing.”

“I don’t want anything from you! I only want to live here until I find something else!”

“You’re not _looking_ for anything else! You’re just so fucking difficult.”

“No, I just don’t want to kiss you.”

“I’m not doing this,” Marik wasn’t going to keep at this. This kind of arguing was never fun, he was just getting more and more exasperated and he had to go, “Don’t fucking kiss me if you don’t want to.”

Bakura laid back down on the couch once Marik had left, and tried to go back to sleep. He rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face into the cushions, cursing himself. He wasn’t meant for any of this, there’s no reason it should’ve gone well for him. He wanted to sleep, he wanted to forget about how much he’d wanted to kiss him. He didn’t want to think about how comfortable and peaceful it had been, sleeping with Marik in his arms. He shifted again, trying to get as comfortable as he had been with Marik, but failed. It didn’t feel like he’d ever be able to sleep alone again.


	9. Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bakura is less of a dumb piece of shit

Bakura stood in the doorway, watching Marik apply his makeup. Marik had his hair back in a ponytail to hold it out of his face. It was messy, as a lot of things about Marik were, but Bakura still thought it was cute. Marik had a habit of doing his makeup every day, just to be around the house. From what Bakura remembered about the time they first got drunk together, almost two months ago, Marik mentioned something about only dressing up because he was around, about not wanting people to see him as a mess. So, almost every day now he watched Marik do his hair and makeup while talking to him about the most mundane things he could think of, but today was different. 

“Where are you going?” Marik was going somewhere, he could tell. He picked out nice clothes, and tried on a couple different outfits before settling on one. 

“Why would you care?” Marik asked him, applying his eyeliner. 

“I don’t.”

“Right. Then why would I tell you?”

“I just want to know.”

“I’m going on a date,” Marik said it casually, not stopping what he was doing and doing his best not to betray any kind of feeling he had towards the subject. 

“You’re  _ what _ ?” Bakura was shocked, not only that Marik had set up a date, but that he actually found someone willing to go out with him. Marik was beautiful, so beautiful that Bakura was surprised the Gods hadn’t struck him down in jealousy. Despite this, Bakura didn’t think Marik actually talked to anyone but him. 

“I’m going on a date.”

“Why?”

“What do you care? You  _ don’t like me _ ,” Marik put down his eyeliner to look at Bakura with an awful glare. 

He should’ve seen something like this coming. He should’ve just let Marik kiss him. He hated himself for not letting himself be kissed almost as much as he hated how badly he wanted it. 

“I just…” He tried to think of something, anything that would keep his pride intact, but no words came to him. 

“Yeah, that’s right. Stop staring at me and let me get ready.”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“I swear to fucking god.”

* * *

 

Ordinary people bored Marik to no end. His date was by no means an exception. Marik had been on a date with him before; they had a class together while Marik was still at school. He was overwhelmingly average. Marik checked his nails while he talked, or checked his reflection in his phone. They had decided to just go out for lunch, it was nothing special. Nothing special at all. 

Before, Marik had an easier time putting up with dates. He wasn’t usually interested in them, and knew they wouldn’t be interested in more than a night with him. Homosexuality was vaguely banned in Egypt, and the people he did get wouldn’t want to risk anyone picking up the obvious. Dates were more like business meetings, and it was incredibly boring. He kept a handful of numbers, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember why he decided to keep this guy's number because everything that came out of his mouth was so beyond mundane. 

He didn’t think his date was very interested either. It was hard to be interested in these types of relationships when they were illegal. He decided to end the date early, much to his date’s relief, and take a walk. Bakura would still think they were on that date. Bakura probably didn’t know the laws against such things; he probably would assume he was having a good time. 

Marik wondered why he had even stayed in Egypt. Not all of it was bad, but he couldn’t be himself here. He didn’t want to date someone openly, but he hated not having a choice. The laws here were much stricter than when he was in Japan. He missed the freedom and the power he used to have. No matter how many years went by, he always felt trapped in Egypt. 

He usually felt that being close to his siblings was worth it. However, the longer he stayed in Egypt, the less he felt that way. Marik loved them more than anything, they were all he had. They loved him unconditionally, even though he never deserved it. He still had time before he wanted to go back to the apartment, he took out his phone; maybe he should pay them a visit. 

* * *

 

Bakura paced throughout the apartment, unable to sit still.  He checked the time constantly, wondering when Marik was coming back and whether he was having fun or not. It was stupid of him to not think Marik would’ve done this.  It was stupid that he actually regretted not letting Marik kiss him. This whole situation was beyond stupid. 

He didn’t want to tell Marik how he felt about him; he couldn’t even tell  _ himself _ how he felt about Marik. He didn’t know how he felt, not entirely. How could Marik expect him to articulate his emotions after spending more time as a vengeful spirit than as a human being? 

It didn’t matter; he needed to tell Marik something if he was going to have him. He didn’t want to think like that; every part of his mind told him that he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t like anyone. He was always, from birth, destined to be alone. There was no possible way this could work out between them. He couldn’t put himself through something like that now. He wasn’t a spirit. He was  _ alive _ and every emotion he never thought he could feel again was overwhelmingly intense. He suppressed all of it, ignoring everything he felt. It was difficult, even more so when Marik was constantly trying to get him to accept his own feelings. 

After there being nothing but darkness for his entire existence, he didn’t know how to move forward. There was only denial. He was still a spirit, he failed his objective, and any day now the Gods would throw him back into the shadows. There was never meant to be anything else. There was never supposed to be laughter and smiling and soft kisses and cuddling on the couch. It didn’t  _ belong _ to him. He didn’t  _ deserve _ any of it. If only he could convince himself that he didn’t want it. 

* * *

 

Marik was greeted by his siblings when he got to their house. Ishizu hugged him, careful not to touch his back. It made hugging feel awkward, but they had gotten used to it by now. 

“It’s nice of you to visit us,” Ishizu smiled, being as welcoming as possible. She wished he visited more often. “I’ll make some tea.”

“I’ll help you.”

Things were much less awkward than the last time they visited. Everything felt more natural when Marik didn’t feel like he had anything to hide. They drank tea together, laughing and talking and sharing a couple of new stories. 

During a pause in conversation, Marik thought he should say something. He knew he couldn’t keep everything from his siblings forever, and he felt like he should be the one to tell them what was going on, rather than them figuring it out on their own. 

“I’m seeing someone,” Marik thought that might be the best place to start. “Sort of. Not really,” he couldn’t actually say they were together. 

“What’s his name?” Ishizu asked him, Marik had already come out to both of them years ago, he wouldn’t have been able to stay in Egypt without them knowing. 

“I- I don’t want to say. Like I said, we’re not really seeing each other.”

“Okay, why not then?”

“He is being difficult. He clearly likes me but he’s denying it.”

“Do you know for sure that he likes you?” Rishid asked him, Marik was often wrong and he felt the need to clarify. 

“I’m positive.” 

“Why would he deny it?” Rishid’s question was more for Marik to consider. He never properly thought through how other people felt.

“I don’t know! Because he’s an asshole? To mess with me? I really don’t know.”

“Marik, settle down,” Ishizu put down her cup of tea and gestured for him to relax. 

Rishid tried to help, “I don’t think he’s doing it on purpose. It’s illegal here, it could be because of that. Not everyone is as unafraid of the law as you.”

“I’m also positive that’s not why.”

“Well, have you considered anything else?” Ishizu added into the conversation, “There are a lot of reasons why someone could deny their feelings for someone.”

“I know, but he shouldn’t. There’s no point anymore.”

“Did you ask how he feels?”

“No, that’s pointless- never mind. You won’t understand if you don’t know him. I don’t get why he would do this when it would be so much simpler for him to just stop denying everything.”

“People aren’t simple,” Ishizu sighed, “Is there anything else you want to tell me, like how you actually get all the money you have?”

“What? I told you I worked-“

“I’m not stupid, Marik. I love you very much so just tell me.”

“I… still have it, from when I was running the Ghouls.”

“Oh. How much did you get from that?” She wasn’t exactly surprised that he had money from that, but she still would’ve rather been told years ago. She didn’t think he would’ve had enough to last this long and pay off some of his college fees. 

“More than I can spend.”

“Oh.”

Marik looked down at his teacup, he hadn't drunk much of it, and it was starting to get cold. 

“I didn’t want you to know, because I’m not getting rid of the money.”

“I know you aren’t.”

* * *

Bakura was waiting for Marik to come home, sitting on the couch and flipping through channels, not even bothering to find something to occupy his time. When he heard the door open, he immediately turned off the TV and walked to the door to greet Marik.

“How was your date?” Bakura was looking at everything except for Marik.

“Fine.”

“Are you going on another with him?”

“Why would you care?”

“Because I-“ He started, looking for the words. Even after all of the time he had to think about it, he still didn’t know what to say. 

Marik looked at him, shocked that Bakura even  _ began _ to admit that he did care. 

“Because you… what?” Marik tried to lead him into finishing what he was trying to say. 

“Because I thought  _ we _ should have… I don’t know! We should be together. I don’t want to go on dates or anything but I  _ like _ you and I wanted to kiss you. I remembered everything the first time we got drunk, I stole all those gifts so you would forgive me, I cleaned up everything because you asked me to, and I just really want to kiss you again, and I-“

Marik laughed, cutting Bakura off, “I know, okay. I know.”

Bakura crossed his arms; he didn’t look at Marik throughout the entire confession. He felt his face burning and he looked down so his hair covered most of his face. 

“And if you want to kiss me so badly, why don’t you?”

Bakura didn’t hesitate. 


End file.
